I should have known I was in trouble when I got home from church and Ciera say's "Dad. You're not going to wear THAT today, are you?"
Now I was, for me, pretty dressed up. Nice jeans, boots, blue dress shirt, and blazer. Apparently, this wasn't what she had in mind. I was informed I needed to wear dress pants, a coat, and a tie. And NO Red Sox tie. I also was told I needed to button my coat when standing, unbutton it when I sat down, and not to slouch. Normally on Sundays I'm in shorts and my Sox cap faster than Rakes can take his shoes off, so this isn't what I wanted to hear 2 hours before the big event.
Ciera looked beautiful, Ang was her usual stunning self, and I looked liked a square peg trying to fit into a round hole but we made it to the Country Club on time and grabbed a seat on the back row to watch. Mind you, I've just recently learned how to spell Cotillion, so I had no clue what to expect.
What I got was a woman whose lifelong dream I'm pretty sure was to be a coach to a beauty pageant contestant; sort of like Kramer that time on "Seinfeld" only not nearly as funny and twice as annoying. As she rambled on and on I started to day dream about the damage Rakes and Trot could do to that ball room and how if my Mom had made me do something like that I'd still be in therapy over it to this day.
Then they started to dance. I watched my little girl, looking as pretty as I've ever seen her, smiling and laughing and dancing around that room and for a moment I wished I could make time stop. Stop so that dumb boy won't break her heart in a few years. Stop so I won't have to one day let her leave with that punk kid in his car to go on that first date.
Stop so I won't have to answer that question from that preacher one day about "Who gives this woman away to be married?"
I'll deal with all that as it comes, I guess.
Today? Today I got to dance with my little girl.
Well, she danced and I tried not to fall down.
On a side note, only in North Carolina would you find Trace Atkins "Honky Tonk Badonkadonk" played at a Cotillion.
Breaking Bruised Reeds
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